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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25874497">Area 51</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claycastles/pseuds/Claycastles'>Claycastles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Invader Zim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Dib (Invader Zim), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gun Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:00:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25874497</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claycastles/pseuds/Claycastles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dib storms area 51 and instead of leaving with a new alien buddy, he leaves with a new alien problem named Invader Zim, who had been captive there for nearly ten years.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Area 51</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>All I can hear is gunshots, popping off in my ears like all my childhood nightmares come true. People are pushing, and screaming, and I'm shoved mercilessly to the ground by a fleeing, sobbing woman. My arms scrap the concrete floor, and I'm bleeding. Someone--another raider--tramples over me as they abscond.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I make a mad scramble to my feet, but another deserter's leg kicks into my face before I’m even off the floor and knocks me down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Shit!" I hiss, tasting blood on my busted lip</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's abundantly clear now; raiding area 51 was a stupid idea.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Get up!" A rough hand yanks me to my feet, and for a moment I fear it's guard! I'll be shot! Or arrested! Or--! It's a young man, with a worn down, pine tree baseball cap on. He's holding a shotgun, and he cocks it. He's another raider, thank god.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Than--," I don't get a chance to thank him though, because he takes off running again. He's not fleeing, not like the others, and it leaves me with a bit of determination left!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I take off after him, but he's already gone. I'll have to find my own way, I suppose. Fine. Alright, I can do this!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I nearly trip over something stiff and stumble. I regain my balance for barely a moment before slipping on something liquid. My entire body goes icy cold. It's a guard, dead in a puddle of blood. He's still gripping his AR15.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With trembling hands, I take it from his still ones, along with his keycard.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I scramble to my feet again, and push through crowds of raiders. The guards are occupied, and no longer blocking the big metallic doors past the entrance room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All it takes is one swipe of the keycard, and I'm in, raiders flooding in after me. I don't know which way we're headed, or where the aliens would be, but then there it is; a fucking map.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A map like the kind you see in malls with a big ol' 'You Are Here' marker. I almost cry laughing when I read the little, 'live specimen containment center' tag.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Okay! This will be easy!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's a right, left, straight, right.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Right.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Left.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Straight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Right.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I can do that. I can remember that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I bolt down the hall and hawk a right. My sneakers squeak on the floors, and I nearly slam into the wall as I take a left.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Next was a right? I start to turn but stop. No!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I go straight instead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now I go right.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There's another locked metallic door, and I swipe the card again. It takes an agonisingly long time to slide open, but there it is.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Live specimen containment center indeed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It looks like out of a horror movie, with creatures behind glass, or floating in tubes of liquid. I slowly me to a muted pace, staring with amazement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There are creatures with thick, scaly skin, horns like lizards, and pointy teeth...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There are slimy, squirmy beings with buggy eyes and pink squishy skin…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Huge, lumbering creatures with mousy little hands, and furry bodies…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's like a horror movie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Except not.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In horror films the creatures scream and claw at the glass, shatter their cages, and eat you. They pace and snarl and fight tooth and claw!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>These creatures aren't moving. At first I fear they're dead, but no, they're alive. They're just not moving. They're curled up in tight balls, staring blankly, or huddles in their corners.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"God…" I tentatively touch the glass of the nearest containment unit. The thing inside makes a fearful noise and scrambles further back into its corner.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I yank my hand back like it's been burned. What horrors have these poor beings been subjected to?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I scan the containment units for some way to release them, but all there is is a touch screen of some kind next to each unit door. I tap it, and a gunshot goes off behind me. I let out a shrieking noise and whip around. There's no one here! It's coming from down the corridor, where the raiders are still fighting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I gulp, take a deep breath, and turn back to the black screen. I tap it again, and it wakes up. It's asking for a code, but I don't have one. God I wish this key card opened everything!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>My hand hovers over the screen. If I mess up will it lock me out? Will it set off alarms? Turn on a gas that will kill the alien inside?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I glance at the terrified creature. It almost looks like a featherless bird. "Hey! Do you know the code?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It flinches and trembles, but doesn't answer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Little bird thing? What's the code?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It makes a sobbing sound, and I peer at it to get a better look. It's covered in cuts. No, not just cuts… surgical cuts. A shudder runs down my spine. Horrible.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Guess I'm on my own.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hault!" Someone barks, and I startle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's a guard, gun pointed straight at me. With a yelp, I scramble away, diving around the containment unit.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guard open fires as I flee, and I can't help it, I scream. I half expect to hear shattering glass, but no, of course not. Of course they'd use bullet proof glass.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There's another spray of bullets, then a gruggled scream, and silence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A moment passes and I don't move. My entire body is shaking, and I'm curled into a ball, hands around my head as if another pathetic inch of bone and flesh would save my head from a bullet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When I finally gather enough courage to stand, it's on wobbly, unsteady legs. I brace myself against the unit I huddled behind, breathing heavily. I think I'll have a panic attack.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guard is dead on the ground. Shot by his own ricocheting bullet. I can't bear to look at him, so I don't. There's a crackle of electricity behind me so I look at that instead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It's coming from another containment unit's touch screen. One of the bullets has busted the screen pretty bad, nearly completely shattered it!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The alien inside is in its corner, watching me with fierce, distrusting eyes. It almost looks human. Well, not, not human. It looks more human than the others. Its general shape is human-ish, with a torso, four limbs, and head all in the right places. It's got green skin, and antenna, with these cranberry pink, bug-like eyes. It's so small, and it's wearing a pathetic orange jumpsuit. Surgical cuts litter its body.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a hesitant nudge, I push the door to its unit open an inch. The busted screen must've unlocked the unit!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I take a step inside, and the thing bares its pointed teeth at me, backing further into its corner.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not going to hurt you," I say, taking baby steps closer, keeping both hands visible.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Its antenna flatten against its head. The poor thing looks terrified, but not like the bird creature was. This one is willing to fight, and I think it will if I get any closer, so I stop about six feet from it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"My name is Dib Membrane. Do you have a name?" I keep my voice soft, unthreatening.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It sneers at me, showing off those shark-like teeth. "Away from me human-pig!" He warns with one pointy, clawed hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You speak English?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"When I like." Its voice is odd, like his mouth isn't made for our language.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you have a name?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn't answer, but it's gaze flickers to my back, where the fallen guard's AR15 is resting, then to the key card hanging around my neck. It bares its teeth again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I won't hurt you." I take another step closer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It snarls at me, and I flinch back. "You are one of them!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not!" I tear the gun off my back and it drops to the ground with a clatter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The creature gives a terrified shriek and shields itself, like it expects to be shot by a faulty gun the moment it hits the ground. All it's fight and bravery vanished in an instant. It's shaking like a leaf, antenna flat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I won't hurt you!" I repeat, pleadingly. "I'm trying to rescue you!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It flinches at my volume, but quickly seems to register its courage. "Zim needs no rescue! Especially not from some smelly Urth pig-human!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Looking past the insult, I ask, "Zim? Is that your name?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I don't get an answer, due to a rather rude interruption. "Hands in the air! Don't resist!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Great! Another guard! And I threw away my gun! I put up my hands, squeeze my eyes shut.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Turn to face me! Slowly! No sudden moves!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I do, then crack one eye open. The guard is pointing her gun right into my face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Name!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Your name!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, remembering your name is very difficult with the barrel of a gun two inches from your nose. "I don't--,"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There's a gunshot, and my first thought is, 'I'm dead," but then the guard is collapsing, blood spurting from her abdomen.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Behind me the alien--Zim, I remind myself--is holding my discarded gun, eyes narrowed. It straightens, bares its teeth at me, and points the gun at me. "If you are not with these earthlings then why are you here?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I--,"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim cocks the gun. "Answer me!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I already told you! I'm here to rescue you!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Why me?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well--," I freeze, then give an awkward grimace. "Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>specifically, but--,"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim cuts me off, pushing the gun further into my face, until the barrel is pressed into my nose. "So you come here, fight and kill your fellow stink human filth, and nearly die, all to rescue not specifically me?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a shaking hand, I gently push the barrel of the gun out of my face. Zim lets me. "Think of it like a mass prison break."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim fully lowers the gun. It (He? She? They? It feels strange to keep calling them it, but does its species even abide by gender roles? Is gender even a thing on its planet?) blinks at me. "Pathetic meat bags…" it shakes its head disapproving. "You are so fragile… you will need help from a superior being such as Zim!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Egotistical much?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim points the gun at me again. "Irritating much?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I roll my eyes and collect the gun off the dead guard. "Come on. Let's get the others out."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim and I shoot each touch screen, and one by one the frightened aliens crawl out, some wearing the same orange jumpsuits as Zim. The door opens just as we finish the last handful of units, and five guards walk in, all armed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I'm about to shout for everyone to make a break for it, when the largest alien--the furry mouse-elephant looking creature from earlier--roars a horrible, enraged, bellowing roar. The guards tuck tails and flee. I'm breathing heavy, my back against something soft and--, oh, it's Zim.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Follow Zim!" The little green alien practically screeches, and I have no protests, so I do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It (he? I think Zim's a he. I dunno anything about his species.) leads us down the corridor, and I'm about to tell him (that feels right,) to go left, the way I came from before… but he rips the keycard off my neck and fumbles with a different door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Where are we going? This is the wrong direction!" I try to tug him away by the wrist, but he wriggles out of my grasp.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I can still hear gunshots down my left, and raiders screaming, fighting, and being the best damn distraction I've ever seen. I don't exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get wrapped up in all that shooting and trampling again, but it's the only way out I know of.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim gets the door open and I understand now. The room is practically overflowing with alien tech. Aliens flood into the room, pushing and pressing, until I'm forced to either enter with them, or get trampled. I choose to enter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim makes a b-line for a small mulberry pink and purple ship of sorts. He throws the windshield open and practically dives inside. I follow him. "What're you looking for?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Clothes." He rips open a strange little storage thing in the ship's wall and pulls out some kind of pink tunic with a triangular collar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I glance over my shoulder. Other aliens are grabbing weapons, armour, ships, whatever they can. When I turn back, Zim has pulled his jumpsuit down to just his waist. His back bare and exposed. There's some kind of horrible scar there, and it makes me feel sick. His green flesh is disfigured and scabbed over. It looks like an old wound that never really healed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim pulls his pink tunic on, and it falls to his knees. He wriggles out of his jumpsuit pants, tosses them back at me. They hit me in the face, and when I get them off my head, he's shimmying into black leggings. I think it's some kind of uniform.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Can we use the ship to get away?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Busted." He says, giving the dashboard a frustrated kick. Then struggles into a pair of--, thigh high black boots? God, what is this little alien's fashion sense? He pulls on matching black gloves next.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"How can you be sure? It looks fine to me!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim turns on me with a snarl. "Because you have never seen a proper spaceship Dib-stink!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I raise both hands, as if in surrender. "Sorry. Can you fix it?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That causes him pause, one hand lingering on the dashboard. He purses his lips, then says, "Computer? Are you active?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Voice identification accepted; Welcome, Invader Zim," comes a robotic voice from the ship. It startled me so bad I nearly trip over the air. "Yes, I am active."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There's a bang outside the door. I think guards are trying to break in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A shark toothed grin slides across Zim's face, and he gives a cry of victory! "Yes! Computer! Start self repairs, how long do you need?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Starting self repairs. Time estimate until finished; seventeen minutes."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another bang.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim whips to face me, his antenna flatten. "Can you buy us seventeen minutes?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I cock my gun. "I think so. How many can the ship transport?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bangs are getting more frequent.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"If we really cram everyone in, maybe a handful, like ten smaller prisoners, maximum. I'll need my Pak back."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Get on that. I'll buy you some time."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I sprint to the door, and aim my gun. "Come in and I'll shoot!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Open this door!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Back off!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something clicks in the door, and it starts to slide open at that agonizing pace. Shit. They must've had a key card. A guard's gun sticks through the slowly widening crack, and he open fires.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Take cover!" I dive to the ground, covering my head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then there's something above me, and it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zim.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He's lifted off the ground on mechanical spider legs of some kind, and he's prying the doors shut like it's as easy as bending a bobby pin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"To the ship, Dib-stink!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not everyone will fit. Aliens will have to stay behind. I look helplessly to that mouse-elephant alien, too big to fit. Crap.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When I don't move, Zim picks me up like I weigh nothing, and tosses me into the ship. He dives in after me, landing in the pilot's seat. The windshield slams shut over us, and the ship starts to rumble.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I'm pressed against an assortment of aliens, all crowded together in the tiny space.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then the ship takes </span>
  <em>
    <span>flight</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Zim blasts a hole through the ceiling with the press of a button, and we're gone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That's when it really dawns on me. I'm in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>spaceship,</span>
  </em>
  <span> with </span>
  <em>
    <span>aliens.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Suck it dad.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim lands the ship on the outskirts of the nearest city. We're miles from where I left my car, parked outside area 51. Whatever. I don't care, I'm sitting in a spaceship full of aliens for fuck's sake!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Alright! Everyone out!" Zim growls as the windshield pops open.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well that didn't last long. "Uh… what?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>out!"</span>
  </em>
  <span> He practically shoves the closest alien out of his ship. "I helped you get out of there, and my generosity stops there. I've got an irritating little robot to reboot and I'm about nine years late on my mission report so scram before I turn this ship around and drop you right back into those disgusting human, five-clawed--," I glance at his hands. Two claw-like fingers and a thumb. Huh. "--stinky, pig-beast's grasp."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I--," I can't believe what I'm hearing. "I </span>
  <em>
    <span>rescued</span>
  </em>
  <span> you!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You… played a part, and Zim is thankful for your… unnecessary but convenient assistance, but Zim is great and needs no rescue!" He holds his head high and prideful. "Especially not from the same beast-kind that held him captive in the first place! Out! Out! Out! You are making my ship smelly!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I openly stare at him. "You're joking."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Humans are very stupid, aren't they?" He sighs, then gestures to the other aliens, who are already exiting the ship single file, at a depressing, muted pace. "Even these </span>
  <em>
    <span>florbians</span>
  </em>
  <span> understand."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Zim."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The least you could do is--,"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No." He cuts me off with a wave of his hand, his antenna flattening against his skull. "The </span>
  <em>
    <span>least</span>
  </em>
  <span> I could do was </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I got them and you out of there, therefore I've already done way more than the </span>
  <em>
    <span>least</span>
  </em>
  <span> I could do. This ship is built to transport two life forms, max. Ten for a short distance? Fine. It can handle that, but anymore on this rushed repair job and it's gonna crash."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, I push the heel of my palm into my eyes and rub. I'm so tired. The adrenaline has worn off, and now every bone in my body aches. "Okay. Okay, I get it, but can you take me home? I left my car at area 51, and you kinda owe me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim tilts his head and blinks at me with those huge, bug-like eyes. "What's area 51?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"That--, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" I stare at him. "It's--, well, you were just--, the place we literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> escaped!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh? Is that what it's called?" His gaze flickers behind us, but we can't see the base anymore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You didn't know?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No." He shrugs and fidgets with a dial on the dashboard. I think he's avoiding my eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hesitantly, I take the passenger seat beside him. "How did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>not know?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim narrows his eyes and side eyes me. "The guards did not speak to us." He absentmindedly scratches at a surgical scar peeking out from under his collar. "They only--," he stops, then says, "...did </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> things."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I know better than to ask what kinds of things. "Can you take me home?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With an over dramatic, exasperated sigh, he hangs his head. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine!"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The flight home is quiet. I try making conversation with Zim, but he only replies in grunts and one word responses. I take the hint and shut up. He lands his ship on the street, in plain daylight, which I think is idiotic, but Zim is dismissive about it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It'll be fine. Pitiful humans notice nothing."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Zim, someone is gonna see this." People are already staring.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With another dramatic groan, akin to a stubborn child being asked to do chores, Zim holds out his hand. I think he wants me to take it, and I’m about to reach for his hand, but one of those metallic spider legs extends and drops something in Zim's waiting hand. It's a remote.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He presses a button, and the ship makes a noise like a car locking, and something glitches over it, like a projection of sorts. Some kind of camouflage.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ship appears as a large boulder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the middle of the street.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim, seemingly unaware how out of place it looks, stomps up the steps of my apartment. He doesn't wait for me, so I have to hurry after him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I fumble with the key, and hold the door for Zim. My apartment is quaint, but let's be honest. That's just a polite way to say small. The furniture is cheap and mismatched, mostly from goodwill. There are half finished projects, experiments, and broken pieces of tech littering every surface, a tangled mess if spare wires occupy my only chair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim gives me a questioning sideways glance. "...You are… </span>
  <em>
    <span>messy</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I chuckle awkwardly, my ears burning. "Yeah… I know." I stumble over the clutter, towards the kitchen to make coffee. "Do you need a place to stay tonight?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim shakes his head. "No. I have a house."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What? On earth?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He nods and picks at a dismantled laser pistol I was making like two months ago. I couldn't figure out how to fix the charge, so I gave up. "I have to report to my leaders."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This causes me pause as I pull a mug down from the cabinet. "Your leaders? Why? Are you a soldier?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim puffs out his chest with pride. "I'm the best Irken Invader the armada has to offer!" </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait a minute. </span>
  </em>
  <span>"I haven't reported on my invasion progress in nine human years though, so I fear my Tallest will think I'm dead!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I openly stare at him, coffee for forgotten, and mouth hanging open. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Invader</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"As in like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>'Take me to your leader, I'm in charge now,' </span>
  </em>
  <span>or…?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, yes. I have much to report." Zim pops the panel off my unfinished laser pistol and fishers with the wiring like it's no big deal. "While trapped in the fifty first of your government facilities, I was without my PAK, which is miraculous all on it's own, by all reason I should have died without it! Yet I am Zim and I live so I must tell the Tallest I am immune to death!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Immune to--, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs and gives me an exasperated look, “My PAK, it keeps my kind alive. Without it, we shrivel up and die, yet somehow after your human filth brethren removed mine, I still lived for several years… so now I’ve come to the only logical conclusion; I am Zim, and I am great, and I am immune to death.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, I don’t think that logic tracks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not to your sad Urth pig mind, maybe, but to a superior being such as myself? I am certain I’m right.” Zim snatched a discarded screw driver off my coffee table, closed the panel in the laser pistol, and examined his handiwork.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a little bit crazy, you know that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim huffed defiantly and took aim with the laser pistol… took aim at </span>
  <em>
    <span>my head. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I rolled my eyes. “That’s broken.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The gun went off, and the mug in my hand shattered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck!” I yelped, dropping the last piece of the mug intact; the handle. When I looked back up, Zim was grinning a devilish grin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I fixed it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can see that, now do you mind not </span>
  <em>
    <span>shooting at me in my own home?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zim shrugged, and set the laser pistol back down on the coffee table. “I must go and report to my tallest. Fear not, human-pig, you’ll be rewarded for assisting Zim when the armada comes to take over your rotten little dirt ball.” He headed out, but paused in the doorway to say, “Zim no longer owes you.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Lowkey though, Dipper Pines was also storming area 51.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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